Boxing Day
by Dr Alice
Summary: My favorite part of the Laundry Files series has always been the developing relationship between Bob Howard and his boss and mentor Angleton. I hope I've done it justice. This story is set immediately after "Overtime" and before "Apocalypse Codex."


Boxing Day afternoon: It's raining again and my stint as Night Duty Officer for The Longest Holiday in the History of Great Britain hasn't yet ended, much to my regret. After dealing with the Laundry's midnight visitor I spent Christmas Day sleeping late, ransacking the office kitchen for edible leavings (sadly, there were no more mince pies to be had) and writing up my incident report. Late Christmas afternoon I called Mo, who informed me that since our last visit her mother has adopted several cats but apparently had not been cleaning up after them. After a spate of mutual commiseration we decided to do New Year's at home, with a fridge stocked with M&S goodies, several bottles of wine and the phones shut off.

So that's next week sorted. Unfortunately right now it's my third night on duty; I'm not in the mood to read, I've finished the mandatory daily managerial report for the Annexe and there's nothing on the BBC except (shudder) _The Sound of Music._ I would love to get out of this place for a few hours for a curry takeaway and a change of clothing, but after the Filler of Stockings' visit I'm too uneasy to leave. With nothing but my thoughts for entertainment I'm screwed; I can't stop myself thinking about that horrible ritual Iris put me through. I flash back to the sacrificial drink, leap from my chair with a shudder and put my right arm through strengthening exercises until it throbs, then start pacing the room.

 _Who am I now,_ I wonder. _How much of me is still Bob Howard?_ Most of me is. I think. But round the edges lurks the new me, able to see and sense things I've never before been aware of. And the soul I assimilated (can't bring myself to use the term "ate," it's too violent), well, his memories percolated through me at first. I think this added to my delirium while I was recovering. But gradually they died away. The meds they gave me helped the memories vanish but I still have a horrible feeling that I digested them…

There has to be something I can do. Something to take my mind off all this. Standing in the watch room, I cast round for an idea and gradually I become aware of Angleton's presence. Not in the room, but in the building. He's in his office, working on the Memex – wait, _how do I know this?_ I can see him in my mind's eye. And then he glances up and looks at me with an impatient frown.

Oh my ancient gods. He's waiting for me.

A short time later I'm standing outside his office. I raise my hand, but before my knuckles can make contact with the door I hear him call "Enter, boy." He nods toward the guest chair while typing, finishes his latest entry and finally leans back; makes eye contact with a small nod.

"How goes the watch, Bob?"

I lay my report on the desk, return to my chair and explain the events of Christmas Eve. He runs his eyes over the typewritten pages and shakes his head. "I can't remember the last time something happened over Christmas. An intrusion into the Annexe, no less. Good thing you were here; I don't think Andy would have picked up on this." He gives a nod to the electric kettle on the shelf. "Be a good boy and make us a cup of tea, would you?"

I busy myself with the kettle and other accoutrements – more English than the English, Angleton is. He likes his tea strong and black and in large quantities and that's just what I give him. Unfortunately he's nearly out of biscuits; he gets the last two digestives in the packet. I make do with just the tea.

"Boss, what do you make of the temporal anomaly here? Was there a Forecasting Ops section that you can remember?"

He cocks his head with a frown. "Yes. Yes, there was. I don't remember a great deal about it. And I'm not sure if this is your memory or mine –" I shiver. "But temporal anomalies are quite difficult to cope with, I've always found. Best not to worry about it further." He puts down his tea, steeples his fingers and looks directly at me. "I haven't had much of a chance to talk to you since you came back to work. How do you feel?"

I grin and run through the same rigmarole I've given everyone who asked (most of the department): Arm working much better, sleeping better, feeling great, everything in the garden is lovely. Angleton sits patiently, waiting until I stop talking. Then he lets the silence hang for a few moments and leans forward.

"That isn't what I asked you, Bob. _How do you feel?"_

I stare back and then I tell the truth. "I'm afraid." And then it all comes tumbling out: the dreams, the sense of not being in my own skin anymore, the visions from my inner eye, _the dreams_ –

He nods. "This all sounds normal."

"Normal?" I blurt. "You call this normal?"

"I've been possessed for eighty years, boy. I know what you're going through, I'm the only one who does, and it will help if you talk about it. Plus, you have a new set of skills now and you're going to need to practice them. We'll need to schedule time for training." He makes a note in his memo book.

" _Skills,_ " I mutter bitterly, slumping in my chair like a rebellious schoolboy. This nets me nothing but a very old-fashioned look.

"Let's try a quick test. How many zombies are on-site right now?"

"You mean Residual Human Resour –"

"I said zombies, Bob. None of this phraseology, just call a corpse a corpse. How many?"

"Six." I don't even have to think about it, I just know. He nods in approval. "And you sensed my request for you to come to my office. Excellent." My lack of enthusiasm for the role of padawan seems to annoy him. "Talents aren't good or evil in themselves, boy. What matters is what you do with them. I believe there's a parable in your holy book to that effect."

I've never thought of the New Testament as _my_ holy book, but I take his point. "What's really worrying me is Mo. How do I know that I'm not going to lose control and, and –"

"Eat her." Angleton finishes the sentence quietly. "I understand. Stop worrying about that, Bob. It isn't going to happen."

"How do you know? I thought at first I'd never be able to touch her again." I shudder and cover my eyes with my hands. Shit! I'm not going to cry in front of Angleton…

He waits. Once I'm calm and sitting upright again he continues. "It's all a matter of self-control, boy. You have an advantage I didn't start with; you're a decent person. My host was a murderer. If I can restrain myself, you most certainly can. You aren't going to hurt anyone unless you have to in the line of duty."

"Right, okay." I hope he's right, but I have to admit I do feel a bit better.

"But I asked you here for another reason," he continues. "I owe you an apology."

Okay. _Who are you and what have you done with my boss?_ I want to ask. I even resort to a quick check with my inner eye. But sure enough, it _is_ my boss. Angleton apologizing to me? It's a…

No. I promised myself I would not use the phrase "Christmas miracle" in this memoir installment. Moving on.

"As you know," he continues soberly, "my plan to neutralize the cultists was centred on using you as bait. I believe I used the phrase 'tethered goat.'" I nod, and he continues. "I made a terrible mistake. It never occurred to me that Iris would see through the paper clip trace or that her plan would progress as far as it did. I thought I could stop her, but I was wrong. And that means that I am responsible for everything you have been through the last several months."

"Iris wasn't much of a demonologist, but she was a very good administrator," I murmur. "And if it weren't for you I'd probably still be stuck at Saint Hilda's on mindbending doses of drugs. You did a lot to help."

"And _you_ did a first class job of sabotaging her plans. As always, you think quickly under pressure. It's a valuable quality, Bob, and you need to be sure you retain it. Are you aware that I had a discussion with Dr. O'Brien the day we were looking for you?"

"Yes, she told me. But I was still, er, confused at the time and I can't say I remember all of it." Did Mo really tell me that Angleton predicted his own death, or did I dream that up?

He resumes, and it turns out that I didn't dream it up. _Oh shit._ "You need to get ready to handle things on your own, boy. We're going to need more necromancers very soon. And it's my job to make sure you're up to the task of training them." I must have gone pale, because he's looking at me with mild concern. "I didn't mean immediately, Bob. We've got time. But there's no time like the present." He thinks for a moment. "Have you been home since the twenty-fourth?"

"No, Boss. I never got the chance. Not after that announcement at the office party."

"All right, then. Go home for a few hours and I'll stand watch. Get something to eat. Change of clothes." He eyes my T-shirt and jeans critically. "Consider it my Christmas gift to you. When you get back, I'll have you try a few simple things like summoning the night watch upstairs." Is that an icy twinkle in his eye?

"Thanks, boss. I really appreciate it. And thanks for… talking to me. It's helped." And I mean it. It makes a world of difference to know Angleton's got my back.

"You're welcome, boy. Oh and by the way, while you're out I'd appreciate it if you could pick up another packet of digestives for me."

"Not a problem." Once out of the building I head to the nearest convenience store for the biscuits and find myself buying two packages. Strange, but I appear to have developed a craving for the things myself.

And that's when I realise that I've never really liked digestives…


End file.
